Willa and the Whale

by Chad Morris

  First of all, I had just transferred into this school a few weeks ago. And then I didn’t come for a week. I had been in dive-into-a-dark-cave-and-never-come-out mode; a turtle, content inside her shell. I probably never would have come if my new house wasn’t so loud and annoying. It was driving me mad. And insanity on top of deep sorrow is a terrible combination. Plus, if a turtle stays in its shell too long, it will just sink in the ocean and starve. So I came to school. And I was still trying to get back on track.

  Plus, there was the picture that I put as my phone screensaver. I’ve been through every picture on my phone that I had with my mom and I found one that I just couldn’t get out of my mind. It was me and Mom at our favorite teppanyaki restaurant, a pretty expensive place. But my mom took me there because I got straight As on my last semester’s grades. She kept telling me over and over how proud she was. Grades were important to her. Probably not a surprise that as a scientist she cared about them.

  And I had to come through for her. I had to get good grades.

  “School uniforms,” Mr. Norton said, announcing the topic he had assigned last time. He wrote it quickly on the board and drew a line down the middle of the board just beneath it. “More and more schools throughout the country are requiring them. Tell me the arguments for and against school uniforms.” He wrote the word For on one side of the board, and Against on the other.

  I liked talking about issues, but right now, I had so many other things floating around in my head. I would have rather talked about where people go when they die. Or why people let noisy kids completely take over a house. Why I could talk with a humpback whale. Or why I agreed to try out for a swim team when I was probably just going to embarrass myself.

  I looked over at Marc. I don’t know why, maybe hoping he’d give me some assurance. But he didn’t see me. He sat a couple rows over and one behind me. Mr. Norton believed in alphabetical seating charts.

  Here was where I showed that I deserved straight As. I had read all of the material that Mr. Norton gave us about school uniforms, preparing for class like I used to when Mom was alive and checking up on me. I raised my hand. Lizzy Wallace’s hand shot up too. Of course it did. And if I was being technical, her hand went up before mine. Debate was her thing. Well, one of her things. She might just be good at everything. Plus, her older sister was on the debate team at the high school and Lizzy always found ways of sneaking in that detail in her comments. Mr. Norton called on her first.

  “Uniforms can undercut any gang-related behavior in an area,” Lizzy said.

  Undercut gang-related behavior? Seriously? She spoke like she was reading out of a textbook. Did she memorize those lines to recite them like she was in a play? I mean, we didn’t really have any gangs on the island. At least not that I’d ever heard of. She was obviously talking about other places.

  Mr. Norton wrote Stop gang-related behavior on the For side of the board.

  Lizzy Wallace had showed up on Tupkuk Island while I was gone and basically filled the top-of-the-class spot. That used to be my spot. If I were a seal, Lizzy would be my orca. Not only was she super annoying, but so far, she got slightly better grades than I did. She asked what I got on the last quiz and the test in math. She’s in that class too. At first, I thought she was being friendly, but then she would smile and tell me her score, which was at least a little bit higher. Just plain gloating. And on top of that, she was cute too, always wearing colors that complemented her dark skin. It all made her head more inflated than a pufferfish. If marine biology were a class in school, I would kick her trash right out of the ocean. But it wasn’t. Though I really wish it was. I think that would make me feel better.

  #MakeMarineBiologyAClass

  I still had my hand raised and Mr. Norton called on me. “Uniforms murder self-expression,” I said. A short and strong statement. Not bad if I do say so myself. Well, maybe the word murder was a little over-the-top. In my study I actually saw and agreed with a lot of reasons for school uniforms, but I wasn’t going to be on Lizzy’s side.

  A murmur of the word murder went through the class. But they seemed to like my use of it. Mr. Norton even wrote Murders self-expression on the Against side of the board.

  “And,” Nolan said. He was on the basketball team and hardly said a thing unless we were debating something he cared about. Apparently, he cared about uniforms. “Uniforms would be evil. They mean we’d all dress like clones. There would be no style. No showing who we are through what we wear.” He said the last sentence louder for emphasis. “With uniforms, you can’t wear the clothes that you really want.”

  I doubt he realized that he basically said the same thing several times. And that it was the same point that I said. But maybe he got the hint when Mr. Norton just put a star next to the words Murders self-expression.

  “I’m with you,” Derrin said. Derrin usually agreed with Nolan, or anyone else who might be a little cooler than he was. “I want to wear my Seahawks jersey.” Sounds of approval went through the room. I heard Marc agree. But it was pretty clear that the class didn’t want uniforms. Or maybe they really wanted to wear their Seahawks jerseys. Probably both. I’d like to think I started this movement.

  “It also means no hats,” Talliver said. His name was really Oliver, but we had two Olivers in our grade. In second grade we started calling the tall one Talliver and the short one Smalliver.

  “True,” Mr. Norton said. “Though we currently have a no hats policy in our school, so that wouldn’t be changing anything.”

  “And probably no jewelry. No unapproved sneakers,” I added.

  “Yes. And yes.” Mr. Norton said. “But can you give me any more reasons other than the fact that adopting uniforms could limit your self-expression?”

  Jarom raised his hand. “Saying ‘adopting uniforms’ makes them sound like they’re puppies.”

  Mr. Norton didn’t write that one on the board. But he did smile. It made me snicker too. Jarom was the class goofball who only spoke when he had a joke.

  Lizzy had her hand up again. “I talked to my sister, who’s on the state champion debate team. And she had a good point. She said that—” There it was. Took a while this time to bring up her brilliant sister. “—uniforms can discourage bullying. When everyone dresses similar, students tend to get along better.”

  “That’s a good one,” Mr. Norton said, jotting another note on the board.

  I didn’t like that he said Lizzy’s point was good. He hadn’t said anything like that to me. I tried again.

  “Uniforms cost money,” I said. “And that means it could force families to spend more money than they have.” Mr. Norton jotted down another note, but he didn’t tell me it was good.

  We chatted about uniforms for another five minutes. Lizzy said uniforms would make it harder to tell who had money and who didn’t, and could help us avoid cliques and discrimination. She claimed it would help kids focus on education. I had heard that too. We obviously read some of the same articles.

  But I was glad to wear whatever clothes I wanted. I picked the right side.

  And I was glad I was trying hard in class. For Mom.

  “Anything else for the against side?” Mr. Norton pointed to murders self-expression, which had three stars next to it. I felt like we needed more of an argument. We basically just said the same thing three times and that it cost money. Lizzy had more. And she had said each one like she was the prettiest fish in the ocean.

  Mr. Norton clapped his hands. “Alright,” he said, signaling the end of this part of class. It depended on how you looked at it. If it was popular opinion, I think I won this one. If it was the number of arguments, Lizzy won. Unfortunately, I think Mr. Norton might have sided with Lizzy.

  Ugh. She drove me crazy. I had to beat her at something.

  “Let’s change things up for the next few weeks,” Mr. Norton said. “Next week we are going to start our legitimate
debates. I choose the teams. I choose the topics. Two students on one side of the issue. Two on the other.” Then he counted us off, so we each had a number between 1 and 23. That’s how many people were in my class. I was number 12. Then he pulled out his phone. “Hey, Siri,” he said, talking to his phone. “Pick a number between one and twenty-three.”

  “It’s five,” Siri said in her electronic voice.

  Not me.

  I only wanted to debate if I could square off against Lizzy. But number five was Kaycen. He was a quiet kid. Didn’t say much.

  Mr. Norton asked his phone again. This time Siri picked twenty. Lizzy. She beamed, like she had just been selected for some great honor.

  “You two will argue for issue number one on the syllabus,” Mr. Norton explained. “And now for the two who will argue against issue number one.” He asked his phone again. I really wanted it to be me. Me and Marc. It would be like when we won science fair.

  It was two. Jarom. Joking Jarom. Not the best partner. I’d rather have Marc, but I still really wanted to debate against Lizzy.

  Mr. Norton asked his phone a final time.

  C’mon. C’mon. Pick me. I felt kind of bad about it, because I wanted to work with Marc. Then I could help him with his grades. But I also really wanted to go against Lizzy. “It’s twelve,” Siri said.

  Yes. I almost celebrated out loud. But didn’t. I smiled and glanced back at Lizzy. I wanted to give her an I’m-going-to-crush-you look, but still with a cute smile. But Lizzy didn’t look at me. She thought she was too good for me.

  “Okay,” Mr. Norton said. “So Kaycen and Lizzy for the issue and Jarom and Willa against it.”

  Jarom called out, “We’re going to have Kaycen and Lizzy cream soup next week!” His normal crew laughed at him even though his joke barely made sense.

  Mr. Norton kept going like Jarom hadn’t said anything. That’s the way most of the teachers treated him. “I’ll give everyone next class to prepare, then come next week ready to debate. We’ll go in numerical order, so topic number one is first and so on. Should we see who is on topic number two?” He put his phone to his mouth and asked for a new number. He went through everyone. Marc got issue number five with Sydney. They would probably do okay.

  After a long lecture on the colonization of America, the bell finally rang.

  Finally.

  I mean it wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t super interesting either. Definitely not crazy interesting like the tiny Japanese pufferfish that makes amazing symmetrical designs in the ocean floor to attract a girlfriend. Seriously, you should YouTube it. It’s a total artist.

  Everyone got up and left, but Lizzy actually bumped into me on the way out. Sure, she made it look like an accident, but if it was, she didn’t apologize.

  I went by Marc’s desk as he was still packing up. “Did you see that?” I asked.

  “What?” Marc asked. He was about as observant as a cavefish; they don’t even have eyes.

  “Lizzy just bumped into me,” I said.

  “It was probably just an accident,” he said.

  “No,” I said, “she was bitter because I actually had some good points today.”

  Marc just shrugged. Again, a cavefish.

  We walked down the hall toward the gym together. And it felt natural. It was what we should be like in middle school. And Marc didn’t seem like it bothered him. Maybe he even liked it.

  But I wasn’t excited for gym. I hated it. Maybe as much as I hated Lizzy. Marc said he had Spanish. That was an easy A for him; he already spoke fluently. I told him that wasn’t fair, but he pointed out that I was taking English, so I stopped arguing with him. Besides, every A he earned would help. Plus, it got him closer to studying computer programming and starting his video game company.

  “So,” he said, “are you ready for after school today?” He looked like a dolphin about to double flip in front of all his dolphin friends.

  I felt the total opposite.

  “No,” I said, “I’m not even close to ready. I’ve never raced before, remember?”

  “Me neither,” he said. “We’ll figure it out.”

  He said “we’ll” and my lips curled. Maybe we were becoming friends again.

  “Are your other friends coming too?” I asked. “Luke and Nash?” I had been wondering that since last night.

  “Nah,” Marc said. “They didn’t want to.”

  Inside I sighed in relief. It was just the two of us. It would have been awkward if he was trying to be there as my friend and their friend at the same time. Like he does at lunch sometimes. Plus, if I stunk at it, Luke would probably have made fun of me.

  Come to think of it, Marc had probably asked them before me. More than likely, I was the backup plan. Like a serious ocean fisherman who wanted a tuna or a dorado, but settled for whatever he caught. I didn’t like that. At all.

  But at least I was caught. A back-up plan was still one of the plans.

  “Oh,” I said, remembering a question I had. “How much does this cost?” My dad had asked this morning when I told him about it.

  “Nothing today,” Marc said. “And even if we make the team, there are scholarships and stuff.”

  “Okay,” I said. “But if we don’t get scholarships, what does it cost?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Marc said. I hoped he didn’t mean he was going to pay for it. I knew his family had the money, but I could handle it.

  He didn’t actually offer though, and his eyebrows scrunched together in a near musselcracker. I didn’t get that.

  “We’ll deal with that if it comes up,” he said. “See ya after school.” Then he turned down the hall toward Spanish class.

  Deal with it? Like it was a problem? It wasn’t a problem. But as I walked to gym and remembered his grumpy face, I wondered if somehow it was a problem for him.

  Willa Twitchell, Journal #5, today

  Today I felt like a seahorse. Not because they’re beautiful and unique and awesome. No. And not because they look so graceful and poised as they swim. Nope. That’s not it either. It’s because of how they swim. They have a small fin on their back that moves thirty-five to fifty times per second and a pectoral fin by the back of the head that steers. If there was a Guinness Book of World Records for the ocean, they would have an award. The same award I felt like I won today.

  “Alright,” the coach lady said, her white jumpsuit popping out in contrast to her dark skin. “I’m Trinity Jackson and I oversee this team.”

  My heart was pounding. Getting Marc back as a friend was worth this, right? I had never done competitive sports before and I felt like a baby porpoise in front of a great white shark.

  I reread the text from my mom before I came, the one where she told me that I needed friends. I could do this.

  About ten of us stood in a line in our swimsuits. I was wearing my yellow one with black trim. I looked like an electric yellow fish. They have the most brilliant yellow color. Of course, I also looked like a yellow trumpet fish or longhorn cowfish, but those aren’t nearly as pretty. Plus, “cowfish” is a terrible name. Who wants to look like a cowfish? Especially since I think they look less like a cow and more like an alien trying to kiss something.

  A hand went up somewhere to my left. “Didn’t you swim in the Olympics?” a voice asked Coach Jackson. I recognized that voice. I looked down the line and I wanted to float belly-up. Lizzy Wallace. She stood confident, like always. And with her brown skin and white swimsuit, she matched Coach Jackson. She’d probably planned that. I don’t know how, but she probably did. I definitely did not want Lizzy Wallace with me on the swim team. Could I just quit now?

  “It said on the website that you swam in the Olympics twice,” Lizzy continued. Looks like she was going to be super chatty here too.

  “Yes, I did,” Coach Jackson said, a smile slipping across her face.


  “Really?” Marc asked. “Like the real Olympics?” He seemed so completely entranced. I couldn’t leave, not while he was so excited. And he had been that excited the whole bike ride here.

  Coach Jackson’s grin got bigger. “Really. The real Olympics.” There was something about the way she said it that I knew she was telling the truth. I could tell by the excited murmurs from all the others that we were all pretty impressed. I know I was.

  Of course, the fastest human swims something like five miles per hour. When you think about that compared to how we move on land, it’s not that fast. Like a jog. A sailfish could thrash that.

  “Did you get a medal?” Lizzy asked.

  “Nope,” Coach Jackson said. “The best I ever got was seventeenth place.” I saw a redhead boy mouth “seventeenth” in disbelief. “But that made me the seventeenth-fastest swimmer in the world at the time.” She said it with such pride. “And do you know how much time there was between me and the gold medalist?”

  I don’t think anyone wanted to answer that. I didn’t. I thought the answer was probably pretty big and I didn’t want her to feel bad.

  “Four seconds,” she said. “That’s it. The gold winner touched, and I . . .” She waited, slowly counting to four. “. . . touched. And that was the difference between first place and seventeenth. Swimming is a sport of seconds.”

  That was crazy. Four seconds was the difference between the best in the world and someone nobody knew about. That was it.

  “Okay,” she said, “let’s see if you qualify to be on the Torna­does.” She clapped her hands then waved us closer to the pool. But something didn’t seem right.

  I raised my hand.

  “Yes,” Coach Jackson said.

  “Why are we called the Tornadoes?”